Author's Note: Hey everyone, thanks for your reviews:) Again, this was terrible fun to write. I hope you enjoy it!
"Carly!" Sam yelled into the phone, ignoring the fact that she had probably just burst her best friend's eardrums. At the moment, she really didn't care—there were more pressing matters. "You're techno geek gave me his nasty germs! I hope—achoo!—he's happy!"
"You're sick?"
"No, I'm sneezing for the comedy of it all!" Sam snapped, snatching up another tissue from the box on her bed.
"It's not Freddie's fault. Maybe you're just susceptible to colds," Carly offered.
"How is this my fault?" Sam cried, hating the reason in Carly's voice. "Freddie's cold, Freddie's germs, my body! This does not even out!"
"Calm down. I'm still mad at you for ruining my report, Sam."
"I said I was sorry," she protested. "I'll even say it again: sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry."
"Please stop saying sorry."
"But I am." She sniffled a little from the cold and let out a loud sneeze. She could practically hear Carly recoil from the phone and then sigh.
"I know. I forgive you. But you were still stupid."
"I'll fix it," Sam promised, pacing around her bedroom floor. "I will. Aha! I know just the way. Carls, do you by any chance have access to a stun gun?"
"Freddie turned in his report three days ago, so you can't stun him and steal it."
"Well, that screwed everything." Sam paused briefly to wonder how Carly managed to know what she was thinking before she said it, and then decided it wasn't worth it and flopped back on her bed.
"I just need one extra day," Carly moaned. "Just one day. Come on, can't Mr. Polk have pity?!"
"You just need one more day?" Okay, she could literally feel the wheels in her head churning, and thought that a little light bulb might even have popped up for a few seconds. This was too good. "As in, a day numbering one?"
"Yes," Carly huffed, obviously not catching on to what Sam was trying to imply. "Why couldn't we have some freak snowstorm or thunderstorm or—or—or alien storm, or something?!"
"Alien storm?"
"Oh, you get the point."
"Anyway," Sam pressed on, "if you need one more day, just don't go to school."
"You mean skip?" Carly asked, her tone unimpressed.
"Well, yeah. If you want to use technical terms." Sam sneezed again and fell back onto her bed. "Just convince Spencer you're sick. It can't be that hard."
"Yeah, but tomorrow he's visiting the art museum, remember? They're displaying one of his pieces." Carly's voice was an odd mixture of pride and fretfulness, though Sam couldn't see the reason for that last part. That just made it even more perfect, in her opinion. "Why do you think he stocked up on pie? So I could have dessert by myself, since he wouldn't come home until really late."
"You have pie?" Sam smacked her forehead and tried to stay on track. "That's not the point, Carls! I kind of need to write a report too…" She squirmed slightly as she thought of the state of her report card, and flipped over onto her stomach. "So I could stay home with you."
"But Freddie's the one who gave me all the websites and books that I wrote the report with!" Carly wailed. "And I can't do it without any references. What do I do with no facts, write, 'science is a subject of very scientifical things' and turn it in?!" Sam winced at the volume of her friend's voice and held the phone away from her ear slightly.
"Fine, then we'll ask him to stay home with us," she placated her, rolling her eyes at the thought, but still feeling the small twang of guilt for ruining Carly's report. "And he can help you from there. He's sick—and I am too, thanks to his disease-spreading ways—so that shouldn't be hard. What do you think?" There was silence on the other end of the phone. "Carls?" More silence. "Carly?"
Sam shrugged and clicked the phone off. Carly would come around eventually. As it was, she settled down to her mucus and used tissues.
--
"You're right."
"I love those words," Sam sighed, her head nestled on a pillow. It was pitch black outside, and nearly eleven at night—so it had take her best friend a little longer to come around than she thought.
"I already have a B in science. Without this report, that'll go down to a C, and Spencer would not be happy," she fretted. "I mean, I fight with him and all but I don't want him to be unhappy, because he's my brother and if I got a C in a subject I'm good—decent—okay at, that would be upsetting, and you know how he hates upsetting things—"
"Carls, breathe. It's a good thing."
"Right. I knew that." Sam heard her take a deep breath, presumably to prevent oxygen deprivation. "Okay. Okay. I'm okay."
"Good."
"Call Freddie for me, okay? I have to go take shower."
"I'm not gonna—"
"Night!"
Sam stared in disbelief at the phone she held in her hands. She was not going to call Freddie after he had infected her with his nasty cold germs. That was cruel. Cruel, cruel, cruel—
But Carly needed him for the report…
"I hate guilt," Sam announced, flinging the phone down on the bed. Fine then, she'd do it. But not without procrastinating a little.
--
Half an hour and one long shower later, Sam walked back into her bedroom, feeling slightly more coherent—the steam had cleared up most of her breathing, thankfully. She had her pajama bottoms on when she suddenly realized that it was just past eleven thirty and if she put off calling the dork any longer he'd be in bed and she'd be screwed, so with an almighty sigh she grabbed her cell phone and punched in Freddie's number.
He answered on the first ring. "Yeah?"
"Listen geek," Sam said impatiently, "Are you staying home from school tomorrow?"
"I guess, since my mom's positive I'll catch more germs there than here. Why are you calling me?" he demanded, his voice suspicious. Sam rolled her eyes, shivering and wishing she had more than two hands and could continue dressing. Somehow it just seemed wrong to talk to Freddie while she wasn't wearing a shirt.
"Well, as you know, you infected me with your sickness and disease," she grumbled, "so I'm staying home tomorrow too. And I convinced Carly to skip and finish her report. But you're staying home anyway, so you can just stop by her apartment! Brilliant, huh?"
"You convinced Carly to skip school?"
"More like planted the idea in her head. Don't test me. So you'll do it?"
"I guess, since I'll be home anyway," he told her, coughing slightly. "Is that all you called me for? At—eleven thirty five at night?"
"Hey, that's pretty good timing, you know!" Sam said, feeling affronted. "I just got out of the shower."
"Or you wanted to call me late just to annoy me."
"It's true!"
"I'm sure."
"It is!" She wasn't exactly sure why she was getting so angry, but she decided to ignore the reason for the moment. "I still haven't got my shirt on, thank you very much!"
There was a heartbeat's length of silence. "I could have lived my whole life without knowing that."
"Look, are you going to be at Carly's tomorrow or not?" Sam snapped. The urge to punch something came over her. Well, the word 'something' was interchangeable with 'Freddie's spleen,' in her opinion.
She heard him sigh. "Sure. Tell her I'll come."
"Good!"And she hung up.
Personally, I can't wait for the next chapter, when Freddie and Sam are actually stuck together while Carly works on her report- LOL! Remember to review!